


Blue Balls vs. Pre-Calc

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 11:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: It’s the spring before Sam ships off to Stanford. He’s in the cabin trying to study. Meanwhile, Dean has other needs.





	Blue Balls vs. Pre-Calc

**Author's Note:**

> Getting a lot of inspiration from porn these days. 
> 
> https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1634769282
> 
> I was watching these purported brothers fuck on Pornhub. The submissive one seems so completely into the Dom. The other is more cavalier about the situation. it made me wonder under what circumstances that dynamic might play out with the Winchester boys.

Sam sits in front of the sofa with his work spread out over the coffee table. He groans at the sheet of paper, crunches it into a ball and tosses it into the fireplace. In the humanities, he shines. Languages, history, and writing flow from him like water. Pre-Calculus, however, requires effort. He can do advanced math with the proper concentration.

So, when Dean enters and slams the door, Sam collects his things. He could ask what went wrong with Dean’s date, or he can flee. There’s no chance of accomplishing anything with his brother cursing and stomping his way to the mini-fridge.

Their father won’t be back for at least a week. While Sam’s not dumb enough to sleep, or even sit on his dad’s bed, he can retreat to the old man’s room and complete his homework there.

Call him a geek, nerd, whatever, but homework has been Sam’s refuge. Homework and reading are the only thing in this mad world that has kept him sane.

And it’s paid off. Guidance counselors across the country could regale you with stories about their favorite bright boy and his problematic home. Sam’s free ride to California comes partly because of his “migrant-worker-father” sob story, and partly due to the stellar grades he’s maintained in spite of his indigent upbringing.

So, let the rest of the senior class rip some coastal town to shreds. Sam Winchester is studying. He’s taking Calculus his first semester at Stanford, and he’s going to be ready.

“Hey, where you going, Einstein?”

The hairs on Sam’s neck bristle. “I just need to get done.”

“Took the words out of my mouth, Sammy,” Dean says. “Get over here.”

Sam clutches his book. He could run and shut the door. Bolt it. Dean won’t break it down, probably. But there’s no hiding forever.

Sam turns but doesn’t move closer.

“I said over here.” Dean takes another swig. “Guess you can’t hear now with all the numbers stuck in your ears.”

Dean chuckles at his own stupidity. He splits the difference between them and knocks Sam’s things from his hands. The book thuds, papers flutter to the floor.

People falsely assume Dean is the only one who inherited a Winchester temper. Sam keeps his rage on a tight, short leash.

He clenches his jaw and bends to pick up his things. Thanks to his training, Sam can sense violence like old folks predict a storm. He braces for the attack, Dean knees him in the jaw and brings his elbow down hard on Sam’s shoulder. It’s a jerk move. Dean has become the consummate jerk lately.

The thing is, he has to resort to underhanded tactics because he isn’t bigger than Sam anymore. And they’ve been trained by the same psycho Marine.

Kneeling, Sam could easily wrap his arms around Dean’s knees and fell him like a tree. Then he’d tackle and punch. Or, he wouldn’t even have to hurt his brother, just stun him and take the upper hand.

However, retaliation will deteriorate into an eternal battle. Broken furniture, sprained fingers, busted face. There’s no reason to fight. Better to get this over with.

Once again, he’s eye to eye with his brother’s crotch and it doesn’t take a NASA engineer to know where this is headed.

To be clear, Sam doesn’t not want it. It would be better to talk, but Dean has never been a talker. Dean likes to do. So, Sam has done. For his brother.

Dean hurls his empty can across the room and loosens his belt. “Fucking bitch.”

A swift calculation determines that Dean’s not talking about him.

“Don’t girls know their purpose, Sam?” Dean unzips his pants. “You know your purpose, though, don’t you? You know what this sassy little mouth is really for.”

He swipes a thumb across the seam of Sam’s lips.

“Dean, listen —“

“Uh-uh. Not that.”

He slips a finger into Sam’s mouth. His other hand slides through Sam’s hair and tightens.

“My balls are fucking aching right now. I need you.” Dean says. “You know I need you, right?”

Sam can’t even nod within the grip Dean has on his skull.

“You ask for anything, I ever tell you no? In your entire life?”

Of course, Dean has never denied Sam. That isn’t the issue here.

For one thing, a person would have to be deaf and blind not to recognize Dean’s beauty, but Sam is not gay. At least, he’s never been attracted to guys. Dean would probably say the same, although he’s starting to give the impression that he’ll rut anything that lets him.

Right now, he stuffs his cock into his little brother’s face.

Sam braces again, but he isn’t ready for the full brunt of Dean’s hips or the fullness so fast. He’s familiar with the sensation now, but it chokes him. Sam shoves away to cough.

Sometimes, Dean shows a little patience. Some tenderness. Strokes Sam’s hair. Tells him how good it feels.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he’s all blunt fingernails gouging the scalp. Dean growls and picks up speed before Sam has adapted.

“You fucking little…”

Bitch. Sam knows.

It’s not about him, though. It’s the girl.

That’s always Dean explanation. Some girl won’t put out, and his poor balls are deep purple.

If Sam’s any kind of brother…

This is Dean’s reasoning.

But it’s awfully conspicuous that this all started three weeks ago, after Sam confided in his brother about the Stanford scholarship.

Was it naive to hope that Dean could be happy for him?

Maybe Sam could be a pioneer. Let Dean see it was safe to leave. Dean always claims he isn’t college material, but he could do something else. He doesn’t have to waste his life as their father’s pet soldier.

Sam wants more than his father’s war, and that’s not wrong.

He’d placed the acceptance letter in Dean’s hand and waited to breathe until his brother spoke.

Dean stared at the paper. For once in his life, he had nothing to say.

The next night, he came home stumbling drunk and spitting curses. After another beer and copious trash-talking about his abstinent date, Sam was privy to the Dean Winchester version of an ‘if you love me’ speech.

“Sammy, I fucking need you to do this for me.”

Once it became clear what Dean was asking, Sam shook his head. He refused. He walked out of the room.

Somehow, five minutes later, he was gagging around his brother’s cock.

Like then, electric urgency surges in Sam’s gut. He presses a palm against his own tented pants and whimpers. As much as Dean needs this, it’s Sam who strains for more. Who arches to please. Aches to give whatever Dean will take.

“Sammy. Fuck.”

Sam soaks in his brother’s grunts and grinds. He hacks again when Dean pushes past his limits. Sam pulls away, wiping the trail of slime from his chin.

“Come on. You can take it.”

Sam’s no expert, but this isn’t really sex. It feels like whatever Dean wants to say is bottled up in his balls. It’s either this or fight.

Sam drops his jaw wider to receive. He strives to comprehend Dean’s moans. His tight, anguished thrusts. His cruel grip on Sam’s face.

His reply:

_“I love you, too, jerk. Always. No matter what.”_

After Dean empties himself, he lingers for a moment, bitter-briny on Sam’s tongue, thighs trembling beneath Sam’s palms. With his breath still labored, Dean smooths Sam’s hair. Then he pulls out and slaps Sam’s cheek with his wet cock.

“You’re a real hero, Sammy.”

Dean puts himself away and strolls from the room, almost like it never happened.

Sam sits back on his ankles and wipes away tears with the back of his hand. He's not crying. It was intense. His eyes water.

One day, Sam will wrap his mind all the way around Calculus. He may never understand his brother.

 


End file.
